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Губы, ресницы, скулы,
Жопа, спортзал, вся хуйня.
Купил вчера себе куклу —
Ну, здравствуй, Барби моя.
Ты точно не Кена искала,
И я искал не любви.
Осталось дело за малым —
Зарядку найти и носки.

Yaroslav Kulikovsky. Prague, 2022 (c).
Part of the cycle: Poems on City Flesh and Power

👉 tiktok.com/@kulikovskyonthepunchline
👉 youtube.com/@KulikovskyOnThePunchline/shorts
This poem plays with the aesthetics of modern perfection — bodies, routines, artificial love. Behind the irony is the right to desire, to choose your own version of intimacy. The plastic world here is not shameful — it’s just another frontier of ****** autonomy.
Вылюбить или Выебать?
Очень хороший вопрос.
Ну, или просто джаст минимал —
Пару часов ярких поз.
Разврат, агонь, амбиции...
На этой войне все равны.
Ну, и по старой традиции
Раз в рот, во имя любви.

Yaroslav Kulikovsky. Vienna, 2022 (c).
Part of the cycle: Poems on City Flesh and Power

👉 tiktok.com/@kulikovskyonthepunchline
👉 youtube.com/@KulikovskyOnThePunchline/shorts
This poem explores the blurred line between desire and affection, impulse and intimacy. It’s not about choosing between love and lust — it’s about claiming the freedom to live both without shame. In this Vienna of bodies, all sides are equal.
Она рыдала в туалете
Гостиницы «Континенталь» —
Её ебали те и эти,
И вдруг себя ей стало жаль.
И вдруг однажды на рассвете
Она решила полюбить,
Но, как листали те и эти,
Никак уже ей не забыть.

Yaroslav Kulikovsky. Paris, 2021 (c).
Part of the cycle: Poems on City Flesh and Power

👉 tiktok.com/@kulikovskyonthepunchline
👉 youtube.com/@KulikovskyOnThePunchline/shorts
This poem captures an inner turning point — the moment when the past no longer defines you but becomes a stepping stone. The heroine is not a victim, but someone capable of rewriting her story. It's a poetic statement: I remember, but now I choose to love.
Я люблю ебанутых и странных,
Может, я ебанутый псих?
Утоляю свою эту жажду
Нестандартными смыслами книг.
Бесконечно радуюсь Жизни,
И всегда, и везде на коне!
Но вопрос в голове — исторический:
Ебанутая нахуй, ты где?

Yaroslav Kulikovsky. Kiev, 2021 (c).
Part of the cycle: Poems on City Flesh and Power

👉 tiktok.com/@kulikovskyonthepunchline
👉 youtube.com/@KulikovskyOnThePunchline/shorts
When “normal” becomes suffocating, there’s only one thing left — to be yourself, even if it’s “****** up.” The speaker isn’t ashamed of their weirdness — in fact, they’re in love with those who don’t fit. This is about the energy of freedom, absurdity, and tenderness toward the non-normative.
Не дрочил я уже две недели,
Но, зато хорошенько наспал,
Разбудил свою музу Элю
И опять не пошел в спортзал.
Но весна начнётся в апреле,
Впереди серо-грязный март.
Постираю за ней постель я —
И пойду проснусь в банкомат.

Yaroslav Kulikovsky. Paris, 2021 (c).
Part of the cycle: Poems on City Flesh and Power.

👉 tiktok.com/@kulikovskyonthepunchline
👉 youtube.com/@KulikovskyOnThePunchline/shorts
This poem captures the quiet chaos of modern fatigue — a raw, ironic look at apathy, habits, and the ebb of desire. Beneath the humor lies emotional honesty: a man who allows himself to rest, to skip the gym, to be imperfect. It’s poetry of melancholy, recovery, and the right to simply be.
Супермое работала в ресте,
Месила Йо-йо мужчинам известным,
Супер Моет — разливала рекой,
Смена за сменой, вниз головой.
Кекса за кексом она выпекала,
Супер-чудесно им рот вытирала,
Суперлегка и супергнеда —
Супермое, ты та иль не та?

Yaroslav Kulikovsky. Paris, 2021 (c).
Part of the cycle: Poems on City Flesh and Power
👉 tiktok.com/@kulikovskyonthepunchline
👉 youtube.com/@KulikovskyOnThePunchline/shorts
This poem explores the everyday eroticism and social invisibility of a woman in the role of "Supermaid." Beneath the playful imagery lies the right to be embodied, free, and desired. It is a declaration: the body is not an instrument but a domain of power. Humor, roughness, tenderness — and deep respect for those society chooses not to see.
This cursed silence makes so much noise—
and the way its echoes ring is unbearable.
Ever since I rented out the upstairs room,
it's just been Che... Che... all day long.

If I hadn't taken an advance,
I would've kicked them out long ago.
Now even the walls of the house-
seem to be turning the same color...
How sometimes, even the walls begin to wear your mood.
the black rose Oct 2019
i realize that you will be who you are
and i am comfortable enough within myself
to allow you to express all that lies within you..
because who am i to try to change you?
after realizing my worth,  
ive realized that nothing is worth enough to disrupt my peace.
gracefully,
i move away from what no longer serves me
or deserves me.
patiently,
i wait on divine actions to arise before i consider your place in my space...
are you here to give or take?
for mine or for your sake?
for mind, soul or warm embrace?
you see im powerful,
still you see only half.
so make your choice
and
i hate to make you choose
but its them or its me.
--
not in fear of or in face of an ego or some pride,
just protecting what lies inside ..
LDP Mar 2018
In quiet spaces...
I contemplate the essence of a breakthrough.
Trying to find the right words and the right time
To mentally and physically express what's on my mind.
Overpowering the loud with the rhymes that overcrowd
Such a condense space drifting me into an unknown place.
In quiet spaces...
I escape.
I find serenity in my own agape.
Reflecting on self-love and self-confidence
Trying to forget how society judges my relevance.
In quiet spaces...
I find me.
And I am happy to know
Who I am, where I'm going and who I want to be.


-LDP

— The End —